Negotiating Loyalty & Devotion
by Singerdiva01
Summary: Missing scenes for Home, Pt. 2. Why did Billy really refuse to accompany President Roslin to Kobol? And what was said between them when they reconciled? Can be read alone or as an accompaniment to my story, 'Loyalty & Devotion.'
1. Chapter 1

Billy could hardly process the events of the past few days. He'd faced down armed men, ready to give his life, as Colonel Tigh burst into Colonial One to arrest the president. He'd watched as Laura Roslin, the closest person to him in the world, suffered through chamalla withdrawals, more weak and vulnerable than he'd ever seen her. He'd found Dee, the stronger of the two most important women in his life, badly injured when the Cylons boarded the ship and committed a massacre below deck. He'd helped Captain Adama organize President Roslin's escape, drawing his friends into the dangerous plan. And then he'd left the president, eyes hurt and questioning at his betrayal, on the hangar deck before she was whisked away.

He'd told her it was because he couldn't be party to sparking a Civil War. His answer was honest, though not completely.

If Billy was truly honest with himself, he had to admit that he'd been uncomfortable with her visions since the first time she'd shared them, trembling in her quarters after he'd roused her, drawn to her bedroom by a loud scream. There was not a fiber of his being with which he didn't believe the president trusted the visions and that she was sure about the route to pursuing their instructions, at all costs.

That in itself was the problem. His parents had been devout atheists. The religion of his childhood was one that worshipped practicality, pragmatism, and the pursuit of human-oriented solutions to the world's ills. He'd been taught to view the Gods as a tool of oppression and domination and to give that up now would be to relinquish the last bit of the person he'd been before boarding the shuttle that fateful day on New Caprica.

Had President Roslin decided to use the scrolls of Pythia as a political means of holding onto power and exerting her will over the fleet, he might have disapproved but he would have at least understood. But she believed, without a doubt, that she was the Dying Leader and that, for him, was a step too far. His minimal and admittedly biased knowledge of the Gods' servants told him that they were formed into existence to serve a single purpose and nothing else. He'd tried but failed to rationalize this knowledge with his knowledge of Laura Roslin. The woman who playfully teased him about not knowing anything about women, who made him tea before their late night chats and unconsciously fixed his frazzled hair during those conversations simply couldn't be a prophet. Smart, determined, strong and sometimes but usually with justification ruthless? Sure. A prophet? He couldn't wrap his mind around it.

She'd been one of the most practical people he'd ever met when he boarded that shuttle to Galactica with her. She'd further proven the point with her actions that day, forcing by sheer will the salvation of the remainder of the human race and the cessation of a doomed war. He made a decision that day that he would follow Laura Roslin anywhere as she had the brains and the heart to stare down any situation.

Even the cancer hadn't shaken his faith in the president. Every time he thought her condition was about to deprive her of those qualities he'd cherished she'd rallied and proven him wrong, stronger than ever.

But the chamalla had changed her. Those visions, to him, seemed like a cruel trick of the mind played on a dying woman, preying on her most profound hopes and deepest fears.

And he had seen what it could do in its worst form. There could be nothing holy about a drug that left a formidable woman writhing in pain on the floor of her cell in the brig. He'd been more terrified during those moments than he had been since the whole ordeal of the end of the world began. He thought he was going to lose her, if not physically but practically. The visions were stealing her mind and that was more painful than watching her die.

Billy paused his train of thought to analyze his own feelings. His parents had been fans of psychoanalysis as well. His view on religion were strong but not strong enough to make him abandon the people he loved. Was it really the prospect of Civil War that convinced him to stay behind? Or, did he leave her because he couldn't bear to watch her die on that planet? Or, he thought with a sudden pang of guilt, because he wasn't sure if he was strong enough to make sure she didn't?

The preceding days had been rough. It wasn't the spot on the floor of the brig that got to him but the utter helplessness as he watched the president decline into a state of madness. He'd somehow managed to convince the guard to get her that wretched drug but it had been pure dumb luck that Venner was religious and amenable to helping.

But he'd always known that there was going to come a time when he couldn't help the president fight her battle against mortality. There were only so many meetings he could have mysteriously disappear from her schedule and so many times he could coax her to rest and then out of bed again before her body failed and none of those options were possible. He'd been spared watching his parents die and for that he'd come to be grateful. He wondered if he was being selfish in trying to spare himself from watching the closest thing he still had to a mother waste away.

Billy was wrestled from his reverie by a rough hand on his shoulder. Commander Adama looked at him with kind eyes, motioning him toward a waiting Raptor. "Come on, our chariot awaits."

Billy had no idea why he was along for this mission. He'd betrayed the president when he refused to go to Kobol and he knew all too well how she coped with those who betrayed her. She wouldn't airlock him. She probably wouldn't even yell. She'd simply paste on her practiced smile, purr platitudes at him, and lock him out of her personal realm forever.

As he boarded the Raptor, he shuddered at the idea of hearing about her death over the wireless, a passive viewer rather than a protective, comforting participant. He wondered if the Commander knew what they were in for when they found their quarry.


	2. Chapter 2

"Are you alright, Madam President?"

Laura Roslin raised her eyebrows as she ducked into the tent, greeted by her aide's tentative words. She'd just made a comfortable truce with an old man and had raced through the rain to the tarp on the other side of the clearing hoping to make one with a much younger one.

"We should have set a limit on how many times you can ask me that per day a long time ago." Her eyes sparkled as Billy tried to sputter a response but she relented, voice full of caring. "I'm fine, Billy. Just fine."

He eyed his boss. Former boss. Well, he had no idea what his relationship to her was right now but she looked like hell. Wet, muddy jeans and a borrowed cotton top had replaced the power suit and her auburn hair was damp against her head from the rain. But, he noted, she stood firmly and her eyes were clear and bright. Not drugged, he also noted, just relaxed. He wondered for a moment if this sudden burst of energy had anything to do with the conference he'd just witnessed her having with the Commander, sitting just close enough to spark questions about their professional relationship.

He decided he might as well start what was sure to be an awkward conversation. "Madam President, I want to explain why I…" He paused, trying to figure out how to describe what he'd done. Left you? Betrayed you? Disavowed your whole faith and sense of self? "Well, I'm sorry for…" He trailed off again, looking lost and a little bit afraid.

The president used the pause to stop him, gently touching his forearm and motioning for him to sit down next to her on the tarp covering the ground. She settled herself with her feet tucked askance under her legs and settled her gaze on Billy as he tried to find space for his long limbs.

"Billy, you don't owe me any explanation. And you certainly don't owe me any apologies. I asked far too much of you and I had no right to do that."

Rather than taking comfort in the words, the president's statement brought forth another pang of guilt. He hadn't lived up to her expectations and her easy acceptance of that fact only served to convince him that she was planning to push him away for good.

"Madam President, I neglected my duties by not coming with you."

She studied him for a moment before responding with a sad sigh. "Billy, you took a 9 to 5 job with a lowly education secretary. A job in which you expected to be able to go home at night, have a life. You didn't sign up to be an aide to the president or to take care of someone while they die. You're too young to have to deal with that."

Billy was quiet for a moment before responding, almost inaudibly. "You weren't much older when you had to take care of your mom."

Laura looked up from the pattern she'd been studying on her pants, shocked at her aide's sudden audacity. And emotional perceptiveness. She'd been hoping to reassure him, lay out limits for his duties that didn't involve picking her up off the floor, and move on. While trudging through the rain, she'd come to terms with dealing with her death alone if it meant sparing this boy the pain she knew so well. Her response came out more sharply than she intended.

"Right. And you're not going to do that for me. If you still want a job, you have one. But that job is to help schedule meetings, take down notes, and deal with the Quorum. You're not going to get out of that task. But I'm getting you quarters in the cargo hold and you will go home at a reasonable time, date Dee, and make a life for yourself. No more sleeping outside of my door and going to doctor's appointments with me. My cancer is no longer your concern."

Her words hit Billy like a ton of bricks. But rather than making him sad, they made him angry.

"With all due respect, Madam President, your new obsession with being a martyr is ridiculous. Dying Leader. Do you really think that the more you suffer the better off the people are? I never took you to be that stupid or that vain."

She shot him a harsh look over the rims of her glasses. "Are you quite done, Billy?"

"No. I'm not. I don't mind helping you. Yes, it's hard and yes, it's scary and yes, it hurts a little more every day. You know why? Because I don't want you to die. But you've decided to cope with being sick by reveling in your death and making it your sole purpose for being. You're so much more than that. Or you used to be. Spending your last days all drugged up and developing a following of worshipers because you can't admit that you're scared isn't befitting of someone like you."

Laura seemed visibly taken aback. She stood quickly and turned her back on the younger man, stepping to the far edge of the tent. She gazed out into the rain.

It seemed like hours before she spoke again. "Have you ever stopped to wonder if I'm right? If these visions are the only way for us to find Earth and that for Gods know what reason this is the role I am meant to play? Or are you so selfish that you want me to give up trying to save these people just to add a few more days to my life? I'm going to die, Billy, and I'm going to leave you and you are going to have to deal with it." She whirled around to face her sparring partner, who was still sitting, a bit stunned at his earlier outburst, on the other side of the tent.

He stood slowly and instead of moving toward the president, he moved to the opposite side of the tent. It was his turn to take solace in the rain.

"I know that. And yes, you might be right about Earth." He paused and his voice softened. "I think that's why I didn't come here the first time. Because when you gave that speech in the brig, I actually started to believe that you might be this Pythia prophet. And when I did, I knew you'd given up all hope of living. You're right. I am selfish. I don't want you to die. But mostly, I don't want you to die as some mythical martyr. I want you...no, I need you to remember that you are Laura Roslin first. That your death would mean something to people even if you aren't the Dying Leader." His last sentence was almost inaudible. "It damn well means something to me."

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around to face the president, whose eyes were brimming with tears. Great, he thought, now I've made her cry. He started to apologize. "Oh Gods, Madam President, that was out of line."

She looked up at him. "It's ok, Billy. It's ok. Really, that was the most touching telling off I've ever received." She laughed, which made him smile. "What can I do, Billy? I've pulled you in this far and I want to know what I can do to make this easier for you."

He sighed. "Well, to be honest, you can stop doing that. Stop putting everyone else before yourself all the time. Nothing in those scrolls said the prophet has to die alone. Don't push me away. I saw you with the Commander just now. Don't push him away either. Let us help you. If you're really committed to this, don't condemn everyone who cares about you to watching your martyrdom from the outside."

The president was smiling now and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

"Thank you, Billy. I'm proud of you."

He shook his head. This conversation had taken a strange turn. "For which part, Madam President? Abandoning you or yelling at you?"

Her laugh was full this time and extended all the way to her eyes. "For both, actually. I'm proud of you for obeying your conscience and staying behind. And I'm proud of you for telling me something you knew I didn't really want to hear. The last thing I need is more unquestioning, adoring followers. Truly. It's been a long time since anyone has spoken to me like that. Being president seems to have that effect."

"Well, your recent propensity for the airlock might have something to do with that," he joked, uncomfortable with the compliment he didn't feel like he deserved.

She chuckled. "Oh, Gods. Starbuck says they're calling me Madam Airlock now. You throw one little Cylon into space and you get a reputation." She paused. "Alright, how about this? I will try to hang on as long as I can and I will try to be better about asking for help. I'm old and I've been on my own for a long time so...bear with me while I try to figure out how not to be an insufferable pain in the ass."

He started to object to her interpretation of his tirade but she stopped him by putting her hand up and continuing. "Your end of this deal is to keep telling me the hard truths and challenging me when you think I'm wrong. Someone keeping their head from getting too big is exactly what every prophet needs."

Billy smiled and tried to keep from rolling his eyes. "I think I can do that, Madam President."

"Alright. And one more thing. I'm grateful for everything you've done for me. You were right. I will never forget what it was like to watch my mother die. It's the most painful thing I've ever experienced and I don't want my death to haunt you for the rest of your life. You have to tell me when it gets to be too much. You don't have to go through this alone either." She glanced over at Commander Adama who was sitting across the clearing, engaged in animated conversation with Lee and Starbuck. "I'm starting to think there just might be a few more people who'd be willing to help me too."

He smiled and once he'd nodded his acceptance of the truce, she pulled him into a hug. When she stepped back, the softer side was gone and she was in full presidential mode.

She patted him on the shoulder and turned to sit down. "Alright, good boy. Now go away. I'm going to lie down for a bit."

As she settled back against one of the pilot's discarded packs and closed her eyes, Billy studied her. She looked tired and he felt guilty for exhausting her with the conversation.

"Ok. Are you alright, Madam President?"

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, an amused smile pulling at her lips. "Yes, Billy. When I wake up, our next negotiation is going to be just how many times you can ask me that damn question per day." With a wave of her hand, she dismissed him and closed her eyes again.

Billy grinned as he turned to go. Well, Mom and Dad, he thought, I yelled at a prophet and she said I was right. What in the worlds would you think about that?


End file.
